Complication

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  Just as the glowing log gave, out it was replaced with a glowing sky. Michael had been awake for more than an hour, listening to the light snoring of the others and watching the canyon walls become visible. They were casting their first shadows of the day. He rolled his head and looked at Debora for the hundredth time that morning. She had not moved an inch during the night, her jacket, still folded into a pillow was flattened, offering little if any comfort. Her knees were drawn up, her arms wrapped over her chest. She shivered lightly, barely asleep. If he listened, he could hear the sound of her soft, shallow breaths. He shut his eyes and breathed with her.

  Then the sound of her breathing was gone, covered by a new sound, this one like a rustling, a scampering. Michael opened his eyes and focused, rolled his head the other direction. The sound was growing, becoming not only louder, but more dynamic; many sounds meshed together. It was getting closer. He sat up just as a packed-mule came out of a trail into the clearing. Several yards behind it was another mule. The third one had a man sitting on top of it and a few men walked wearily behind that. Michael snatched up a handful of pebbles and dust and threw them in the direction of the twins. They pelted their intended targets and they both stirred awake and pushed themselves up to a seated position.

  They were already surrounded.

  “Wake up sleepy heads,” Glen said as he got off his mule with assistance from his companions.

  One of the twins pulled a flare gun out from beneath his pack and leveled it at Glen.

  Glen and his team also pulled out their weapons. “I can assure you, we have you out gunned.”

  The twin jerked the barrel toward the sky and fired. A red and yellow flare went whining high, ending in a loud bright pop.

  “Run,” said the twin. He led the way to a wedged opening in the wall on the other side of the clearing. As they went, they heard a few cracks of gun fire and the sound of lead hitting the rocks around them. The opening they ducked into was small, narrow enough that two of them could barely enter without jostling one another. The cliffs came back together over their heads providing a secure roof, but farther down the narrow alley it opened again. The twin reloaded the flare gun and aimed it with two hands, out the small opening at Glen. “This can actually kill you,” he warned. “And it would hurt badly too.”

  Glen stopped short. The twin pulled a third flare from his cargo pocket, fired up where he could see the sky, and then quickly reloaded and re-aimed in Glen’s direction.

  “See that?” Michael said. “That means the Aggregate is coming- flew eighteen successful missions in the war for the delta.”

  “I would suggest it hurries,” Glen said, and slapped the rear of the leading mule. It whinnied and darted through the pass, its load swaying back and forth. The four of them scattered, pressing themselves firmly against the walls, except for Michael. He ran deeper into the pass to where the path bent out of sight.

  A short moment later, the mule came tromping back up the pass, the load it had been carrying dropped somewhere behind. Instead, Michael was riding on its back, swaying unsteadily and holding the bar up like a sword. He climbed down and whispered to the others. “The Aggregate is touching down, not more than a half mile beyond the pass.”

  “Great,” said a twin. He kept the flare gun trained at the opening. “We’ll need a diversion to get away from here.”

  The other twin dug into his pack and pulled out a ball shaped lump. “I hate to waste this here, but we have no choice.” He climbed a short way up the wall and squeezed it into a cranny over head.

  They heard a hiss. Through the opening marched a mechanical, spidery-looking machine. Its body was as large as a mid-sized dog, and its legs made it stand a good foot and a half off the ground. Michael swung the pole at it. He struck it squarely on the main body but inflicted no damage. The machine grabbed at the bar with one of its forward legs and held on. Michael swung it against the wall. It fell to the ground, quickly found its feet again and was back on the attack.

  “Don’t lose that pole,” one of the twins said, “it is our only hope for finding the complicator.”

  “It also makes a handy weapon,” Michael said. He took another swing and pulled away before the thing could take hold. Some red oily substance oozed down one of its legs. Michael chuckled with pleasure. The metal spider finally became still. Smokey steam wafted out of the top. “I think I killed it,” Michael said, then coughed on the fumes.

  “Get away from it.” Debora shouted. “It’s not dead, it’s gassing us.” Through the smoke they saw Glen crouched in the opening, a breathing tube running across his nose. A pair of goggles was strapped across his face to protect his eyes. He smiled a closed lip grin and took a deep breath through his nose tube.

  Michael, Debora and the twins backed down the pass, the flare gun still pointed cautiously out the small opening. The twin fired. The flaming flare traveled a spirally trajectory and Glen fell to the side letting it pass. It fizzed into the ground before extinguishing. As it did, the ball the twin placed in the rock above exploded and the opening caved in leaving Glen outside. “Run,” someone said, and Michael led the way, coughing and wheezing, to where they would find the Aggregate.

  The cave-in would hold Glen off, but he could just as easily go around the way he had come. The head start proved to be enough. Captain Regat was lowering the ramp by the time they made it. It stopped a foot above the ground and began to rise again before they were halfway up it.

  The Aggregate rose slowly, casting a slowly shrinking shadow on the ground. Michael looked over the side and saw Glen with his small band of men and donkeys, not pursuing, but retreating. Michael knew it didn’t mean that they were free from his pursuit. Glen would be back, and he would likely have something up his sleeve. Michael wiped the blurriness out of his still burning eyes.

  Twelve